..
Scattered were some paintings carpeting the brick floor. Paintings of hope, paintings of bliss, paintings of peace. Moonlight glinted over the pastels and the ever changing atmosphere embraced the paint smell.
He carefully picked them up one by one as if they were some sacred verses not to be thrown in such a careless way. His eyes praising every painted stroke and his arms firmly holding the abandonments.
'This is holy.'
He whispered a wonder on picking up the last portrait.
There she stood, holding a worn out paint brush with some paint marks on her fingers and cheeks.
'What are you painting now?'
He asked as he stood beside her and observed the incomplete canvass.
She remained quiet until she made the last stroke. And there it appeared, a serene moon burning in brutal flames. Their eyes forgetting how to move, froze to the rising fire.
'Why did you do that?'
He sighed.
She looked at him with stoned, black eyes.
'I was brought back to reality.'
She said.
A tear hastily rolled down her skin.
One day, they will collect and bring back all your lost belongings back to you with a hope to fix your cracks. But that day, you will be burnt enough in your own set fire of restrictions that No one will be courageous enough to jump into it and save you. You, and your dreams will be just burnt to death by reality.
There will not be any going back.
